


every piece of me loves every piece of you

by crashqueen



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 13:38:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16368611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crashqueen/pseuds/crashqueen
Summary: The first time Enjolras tells Grantaire he loves him, it's an accident.(A fic about Grantaire and Enjolras saying "I love you" to each other at different points in their relationship. That's it. Seriously.)





	every piece of me loves every piece of you

The first time Enjolras tells Grantaire he loves him, it’s an accident.

They’re Skyping, ostensibly to talk about Les Amis’ website design, but for the past hour they’ve been having a lazy, rambling conversation about everything and nothing. Ancient Greek philosophy. Pizza toppings. Who the best Star Trek captain is. They never seem to be able to stay on topic for more than five minutes at a time.

“Shit,” Enjolras says at last, “I have class, sorry.”

“It’s cool,” Grantaire replies, and he’s proud when his voice doesn’t betray even a trace of his disappointment. “Later, Enj.”

“Bye, R. Love you,” Enjolras says, and hangs up, leaving Grantaire to sit frozen and stare at his blank expression reflected back at him from the laptop screen. To remind himself, over and over and over, that it’s just a slip of the tongue, probably force of habit from ending calls with Courf or Ferre, that Enjolras doesn’t feel that way about him and never will, and, no, that doesn’t bother Grantaire at _all_ , not even a little bit, why would it?

He doesn’t move for ten minutes.

 

***

 

The first time Grantaire tells Enjolras he loves him comes almost exactly a year later, when they’ve been dating for six weeks.

Enjolras is still pinching himself, still incredulous that they finally stopped bicker-flirting and being oblivious and started kissing and holding hands. He likes kissing and holding hands. A lot. He and Grantaire suit each other absurdly well, and they’re _happy_ , and he must have saved the world a million times over in a past life to deserve being Grantaire’s boyfriend in this one.

They’re sitting in front of the TV and pretending to study, and Enjolras is trying to work out a way to explain this all to Grantaire, but he can’t quite manage it, so instead he leans over and kisses Grantaire’s forehead.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Grantaire says, smiling warmly. “I love you.”

 _Oh,_ Enjolras thinks, because that’s exactly what he meant to say, only he’s just now realizing it, and it makes him kind of dizzy. “Thanks,” he chokes out lamely, and Grantaire snorts in amusement. Enjolras curses himself. “Sorry, I didn’t, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine, babe,” Grantaire chuckles, “really. You don’t have to say it back if you don’t want to.”

“R,” Enjolras says sternly, “I want to say it. I feel the same way, and it’s important to me, and I just, I need a second, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Enjolras takes a deep breath, like a runner at the starting line. “I, uh, Grantaire, I lo—would you quit looking at me like that? I, I love—”

“I can’t watch!” Grantaire exclaims, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s too painful.”

“Jesus Christ, shut _up_ , I love you,” Enjolras whines, batting half-heartedly at his boyfriend’s chest in protest. His face is burning. “You little shit.”

“You’re such a sap,” Grantaire deadpans, and tugs Enjolras into a kiss, but they’re both grinning too widely for it to be much more than brushing lips and clacking teeth.

“Of course I love you,” Enjolras mumbles when they part, his head cradled against Grantaire’s collarbone. “You know that, right? I really, really love you.”

“I know, Enj.”

 

***

 

Enjolras gets a bit obsessed with it after that.

He wakes Grantaire up every morning with a kiss on the nose and an “I love you.” (Even if he has an 8AM class and Grantaire doesn’t actually have to be awake for another four hours.) He uses it instead of _thank you_ : “Could you pass the orange juice, please? I love you.” He stumbles into bed after a long night of studying and shakes Grantaire awake to whisper it into his skin (“I couldn’t very well go to sleep without telling you, could I?”). He writes it in maple syrup on his pancakes, in acrylic paint on the back of Grantaire’s hand, in the fog of the shower door. On multiple occasions, he introduces Grantaire to strangers by saying, “This is Grantaire, my boyfriend, and I love him.”

Most egregiously, he halts in the middle of a meeting one day and declares, “Now, this next order of business is a rather unexpected and crucial announcement…” He waits until he’s satisfied with the level of attention the Amis are giving him before he grins and says, “I love Grantaire!”

The room explodes immediately. Courfeyrac screeches, Eponine pretends to gag, Joly and Bossuet and Chetta fall over themselves laughing, and Grantaire bursts into flames on the spot.

“You’re so embarrassing,” he complains.

“ _Bu-ut_?” Enjolras prompts.

“But I love you too,” Grantaire mutters, rolling his eyes, and that sets their friends off all over again for a solid five minutes.

Grantaire is blushing so fervently by the end of the whole ordeal that Enjolras actually pulls him aside when the meeting is over. He’s wearing the brisk, business-like look on his face that means they’re about to have a Talk.

“Do you want me to stop fawning over you in public?” he asks, frowning. “I won’t be upset. I would never want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

Grantaire is torn between laughing and crying. He buries his face in the sleeves of his oversized green sweater and sort of does both before mumbling, “No, ‘m okay.”

“Pardon?”

“I said—” Grantaire huffs a little and looks up, because Enjolras really isn’t letting him off the hook, is he? “I’m okay. I don’t mind. I kind of, um…like it, actually. So.”

It takes a second for the statement to click, and then Enjolras is grinning at him, gleeful and wicked. “Why, Grantaire—”

“I’ll take it back, I swear to God.”

“You absolute _softie_. Everyone!” Enjolras hollers, waving his arms frantically. “Everyone, quick! Come look at my boyfriend, Grantaire, whom I love!”

“I don’t know why the fuck I’m dating you in the first place,” Grantaire grumbles, but he’s still smiling as he laces his fingers through Enjolras’s.

 

***

 

Enjolras tries not to yell at people so much these days. Cosette told him once, quietly, that it upsets her when people yell. So he’s working on it.

Which is why, when Marius bumps into him and spills two Venti iced lattes across his front, he only gets out a, “WHAT THE F—” before he cuts himself off, closes his eyes, and gives a long exhale. “I mean,” he says, with a terrible, strained, smile, “this is fine.”

“Oh my God, Enjolras,” Marius squeaks, eyes wide with horror, “I am so sorry. I can go get you some towels, or—”

“I’ve got it, Marius,” Grantaire calls, because the kid deserves a break, poor thing. Marius dashes off with a frightened yelp, and Grantaire drags an irate, grumbling Enjolras to the cafe’s bathroom by his wrist, leans him against the sink, peels off his shirt, and sets to work with paper towels. “You okay, babe?” he asks, and smiles, in the hopes that Enjolras will smile back. (He does, if only by reflex. A quick twitch at the corner of his mouth.)

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Enjolras sighs, “it’s just, on top of everything else, you know…”

And Enjolras lays out “everything else” in great detail, his hands fluttering with agitation as he describes the twenty-five page poli sci paper he has due in two days, and how he can’t remember the last time he slept for more than three hours straight, and the pointless fight he had with his parents because they don’t _listen_ to him, they never do, and maybe he should stop expecting them to listen, and also the grocery store was out of his favorite yogurt, the one that comes with the little thingy of granola, what the fuck, why is everything terrible? And you know what else, what’s up with that kid who fucking longboards down the dorm hallway all the time, Enjolras tried to tell him off the other day and he just _sneered_ , the little—

“Enj, darling,” Grantaire interrupts, because the vein in his boyfriend’s forehead looks like it’s desperately attempting its escape, “hey, hey, shh.”

“Stop shushing me, I’m not a horse,” Enjolras pouts, but he shushes up anyway.

“It’s just that I have something important to tell you, and it can’t wait another second.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Grantaire smiles and bumps his boyfriend’s nose with his own. “I love you.”

“Oh,” Enjolras breathes, and if his eyes are suddenly a little damp, well, Grantaire’s kind enough not to mention it. “That is pretty important.”

“Arms up, buttercup.” Enjolras complies, and Grantaire slips his t-shirt, now mostly dry thanks to the bathroom hand dryer, back over his head. “There,” he says, pleased. “All better.”

All the tension rushes out of Enjolras at once, like air from a popped balloon, and suddenly he and Grantaire are making heart eyes at each other like idiots in a public bathroom, and he can’t imagine that everything won’t be perfectly alright.

“Let’s go back to your place and take a nap,” Grantaire says. “I love you.”

“Okay,” Enjolras agrees, smiling. “I love you too.”

 

***

 

It’s nearly dawn by the time Enjolras and Grantaire stumble back to their hotel room, bow ties undone and tuxedo jackets askew. They’re keeping their voices low, trying not to wake the other guests, and there’s something mischievous and delightful about it, like children passing notes at the back of the classroom.

“No, no, no,” Grantaire insists, “it was a Wednesday, I had that terrible philosophy class with the professor who did magic tricks all the time—”

“How much champagne did you have? This was freshman year, you had that class sophomore year. I know because I had a class in the same building and I stared at you while you were walking—”

“We met _freshman year_?”

Enjolras genuinely falls over himself giggling. Grantaire follows close behind, so they’re lying in a clump on the floor of their room. “Yeah, R, we did.”

“So we’ve known each other for, like…”

“Nine years,” Enjolras supplies helpfully.

“And now we’re _married_.”

“Yeah, we are,” Enjolras says, “ _married_ ,” and he savors the way the word tastes on his tongue: almost exactly like the champagne had, sweet and bubbly and rosy.

“You’re my husband. I’m your husband. Look at us,” Grantaire waves a hand excitedly between them, “husbanding. Husbanding it up on the floor.”

Grantaire’s hair is a storm cloud of dark curls above his head, and his eyes are shining, crinkled at the corners from the force of his laughter, and Enjolras wants to freeze time, sit there and gaze at him forever, except he can’t kiss Grantaire if he’s frozen, can’t talk to him and grow old with him, and what’s the fun in that?

“Enj, you are looking at me so weird right now, it’s adorable.”

“I just.” Enjolras puts a hand on either side of Grantaire’s— _his husband’s_ —face to steady himself, takes a deep breath to quell the explosive feeling in his chest. “I love you. I love you so much I don’t know what to do with myself sometimes.”

“Well, you married me. That’s a pretty good start.”

“Yeah, that was smart of me.”

“I love you, too,” Grantaire whispers, and they lean forward at the same time to kiss, soft and gentle and achingly slow.

They have all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this sitting in my google docs forever, just bein' cute. i kept meaning to flesh it out a bit or weave something like an actual plot into it, but...it's just cute and that's valid babie! i don't know where the title came from, it's just something i say sometimes.  
> haven't published much here so comments and kudos are VERY appreciated <3


End file.
